


Make it Last All Year

by elithewho



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Cunnilingus, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Mind Reading, Sexual Content, Touch-Starved, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: Perhaps the Christmas season had driven him temporarily insane. Maybe that’s why he’d rather not be alone this Christmas Eve.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [headbuttingbears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/gifts).



> An early Christmas gift for Morgan! Because we now ship Queenie/Graves and can't seem to stop. Obviously my characterization/backstory for Graves was totally invented by both of us. Takes place before the movie I guess? Enjoy!

Anyone who knew Graves at all also knew that he was not a merry person, so it was no surprise to them that he did not like Christmas. He was as cold as ever, sneered at the cheerful decorations and did not return a single “Merry Christmas” from anyone on his staff. They laughed about it behind his back and called him Scrooge. Whatever that was, Graves didn’t really mind. He’d heard worse insults.

But it was true that he hated Christmas. And not just because all the twinkling lights on every surface gave him migraines. He hated the fake, upbeat attitude and that contrived promotion of brotherhood and friendship that everyone seemed to forget as soon as the post-Christmas dinner hangover set in. He really hated the way people had been asking him the same question since he was 12. _“How can you hate Christmas?”_ in that scandalized tone like if he had said he hated puppies or happiness. In his youth, he’d always have tried to defend himself with an overly heated, _“I just do!”_ which always earned him a derisive smirk or a look of extreme pity, depending on who he was talking to. These days he just completely ignored the question.

The truth was he didn’t have much of an inkling of what Christmas was _supposed_ to be or why everyone in his immediate vicinity was so obsessed with the entire season until he went to school. Christmas at the Graves home consisted of midnight mass and then a fancy dinner, which wasn’t any different from usual dinners except they had a huge roast turkey. At Ilvermorny, he’d been introduced to the concept of children excitedly anticipating gifts and parties and warm, happy memories with their families. The whole thing had made him so seethingly jealous that he would loudly proclaim that he hated Christmas instead, perversely enjoying his classmates’ amazement and then annoyance at his dampening of their spirits. 

He didn’t need to ask why his parents never gave him gifts or tried to provide nice memories for him. He was used to the sort of attention they paid to him and to one another. That was to say, none at all.

So Christmas was not a warm reminder of family and love and all that, not for Graves. His parents were dead, the rest of the Graveses as indifferent to him as to an ant. He had no one to share it with and absolutely no inclination to. It was another day, albeit one when he didn’t have to work.

At the meeting with his team on Christmas Eve, everyone was chatting excitedly about their plans for the holiday and Graves hated that old familiar feeling, like he was 12-years-old again and wondering why all the other children got presents and he didn’t. Instead he just loudly announced that the meeting was beginning and everyone should turn their attention to the task at hand.

He detected grumbles and annoyed looks, which was par for the course. Only Tina Goldstein seemed ready to discuss the actually important matter of their jobs, which he appreciated. She may have been earnest and hotheaded, but at least she was dedicated.

Graves was tempted to draw the meeting out to unnecessary lengths just to torment the aurors who tapped their feet impatiently and shared what they thought were secretive looks of annoyance and boredom. The illegal magical activity was confined to small, petty infractions due to the season. Wizards and witches getting too enthusiastic with their holiday magic and tempting fate with their no-maj neighbors. It was not the most exciting work and even Graves was bored and annoyed with it, but he tried to drone on regardless. He watched Goldstein scribble away with her quill, taking the same meticulous notes as usual. 

Eventually, Graves ran out of things to discuss and even the blonde witch responsible for refilling their coffee mugs was looking anxious to leave. With reluctance, Graves wrapped up the meeting and dismissed the group.

“Merry Christmas, sir!” one of the junior aurors chirped as he left. Graves ignored him, certain he was doing it on purpose. He was sure the young man would go giggling to his colleagues in the break room like an imbecilic schoolgirl.

More annoyed than ever, Graves shut himself up in his office, happy to be alone. He had a stack of paperwork to complete and although Picquery had indicated that she wasn’t expecting it until after the holiday, Graves was going to do it anyway. He had nothing else to do, after all. 

It was getting late and he was sure the rest of the department had already taken off to enjoy their Christmas Eve dinners and celebrations. He could hear their raised voices in the hallway as they passed his office, bright with enraging good cheer. Graves hung his coat by the door, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his waistcoat, preparing for a long evening of work. He poured himself two fingers of whiskey, happy that he’d be left alone for the foreseeable future.

Just when he was content to enjoy his solitude, there was a tap on the door.

“Yes?” Graves growled, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice.

It was the blonde witch who was always delivering coffee. She bore a gold tray with a steaming mug.

“I brought you a hot nog!” she said brightly and Graves stared at her, utterly nonplussed. “Since you’re here working late,” she continued, as if this clarified things.

When Graves still did not respond, she bustled over, setting the tray on his desk. The hot mug of eggnog was sprinkled with a cheerful dusting of nutmeg. 

“There’s a dash of rum in there too,” she said with a jaunty wink.

“Why? Did you bring this?” Graves finally said.

“Even if you don’t like Christmas, you can’t deny a hot nog,” she said with that annoyingly sunny smile.

“Sorry, who are you?” he said, realizing that despite seeing her around, he didn’t even know her name.

“Queenie Goldstein,” she said, apparently unconcerned that he didn’t already know.

“Goldstein, as in –“

“Tina, my sister,” she finished brightly.

“Hm, I didn’t know –“

“Tina had a sister? Well, she’s the career gal, not me,” Queenie said and Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. He was confounded with her sudden appearance but now just wanted her to go away and leave him in peace.

“Do you really though? Want to be left alone?” she said earnestly and Graves glared at her. 

“Don’t you have a Christmas party to go to or something?” he said sharply.

Queenie laughed, the sound filling his office strangely, the space unused to such sounds of jubilation.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas, silly,” she said with more cheer than he ever could have expressed the same concept.

“I thought everyone here did,” he remarked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Jews don’t celebrate Christmas that often, no,” she said thoughtfully and then pushed the mug of eggnog towards him. “It’s getting cold.”

“Oh,” was all Graves could manage to say to that, feeling like a fool. He picked up the mug and took a small sip. It was creamy, rich and sweet, cut with a pleasant bite from the nutmeg and rum.

“Good, right?” Queenie enthused and Graves made a grudging noise of acceptance.

“You don’t seem put out by the Christmas obsession here,” he said, carefully not looking at her because she had perched herself on the corner of his desk, her feet swinging as they dangled below her.

“It makes people happy, why would that put me out?” she said with a giggle and Graves frowned. “Teenie and I didn’t get Christmas presents when we were at school, either,” she said conversationally. “We felt left out too.”

Graves looked up at her sharply. Her eyes were bright, sparkling, cheeks pink with a jolly warmth that made her seem to glow.

“How did you –“

“But the other kids didn’t mean to rub it in, they were just excited! Can you blame them?”

Graves could feel the tingle at the edge of his mind, that familiar push from the outside moving in. He hadn’t noticed, perhaps because he hadn’t expected it from her.

“You shouldn’t read peoples’ minds, it isn’t polite,” he said with a deep frown.

Queenie only sighed, twirling a thick blond curl around her finger in a very distracting way.

“Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes,” she said a bit sheepishly. “Teenie’s always scolding me about it.”

“As she should,” he said firmly, picking up his quill and hoping she’d get the hint. “Thank you for the drink, goodnight Miss Goldstein.”

“Why don’t you get a real drink with me?” she said brightly instead of leaving immediately like he had hoped. “I know a great place that won’t be too crowded!”

“I have work to do, Miss Goldstein,” he said firmly, dipping his quill in ink.

“It can wait!” she said, hopping off his desk with a little bounce. “The best cure for loneliness is –“

“I’m not lonely,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

Queenie was suddenly too close, invading his space and laying a soft hand on his bare forearm. 

“Even so,” she said softly and Graves realized he was clenching his fist. Her fingers were very soft on his bare skin. When was the last time he’d been touched so fondly? The thought crossed his mind before he could beat it back and frantically threw up mental walls, hoping Queenie hadn’t overheard.

Her gentle smile indicated that perhaps she had and Graves shrugged off her hand, hating the flush he felt rising in his cheeks. 

“Come on,” she said cajolingly. “Would you really rather sit here in your office all night instead of having a nice drink?”

“Yes,” Graves said, but it sounded petulant even to his own ears.

“Now, I _know_ that isn’t true,” she said a little smugly and Graves scowled. “I won’t say a word about Christmas!” she said brightly, summoning her winter coat from nowhere.

Graves found himself standing up and striding over to his coatrack. Perhaps the Christmas season had driven him temporarily insane. Maybe that’s why he’d rather not be alone this Christmas Eve.

 

Queenie apparated them to a rather dingy, hole in the wall speakeasy. He glanced around suspiciously, but didn’t see any criminals he recognized, which was good. Best of all he didn’t see too many Christmas decorations. Queenie’s hand was still wrapped around his arm from the side-along apparition journey and he shrugged it off, careful to keep the part of him that wanted her to keep it there blocked off from her prying mind.

She apparently didn’t notice or pretended not to. She found a small table in a dim corner for them and went to order drinks. He watched her saunter over to the bar, hips shaking, drawing the eye of every wizard she passed by. The bartender, who had been making an order for a pair of goblins, immediately stopped what he was doing to take Queenie’s order, his eyes raking over her form. The goblins grumbled in annoyance, but Graves could hear Queenie’s girlish giggle from the corner he was sitting in and the bartender ignored them. Queenie returned with their drinks in record time, looking pleased with herself.

“Thanks,” Graves said when she presented him with a tumbler and two fingers of whiskey. He fished in his pocket for some coins to pay her back but she waved him away.

“It’s on me,” she said firmly, taking a sip of the whiskey sour she had ordered. 

Graves had to wonder again why he was there. Maybe it was nice to have someone to talk to without him needing to say anything at all.

“Our parents died when Teenie and I were kids,” she said casually. “So we were alone most of the time, but at least we had each other.”

Graves said nothing. He wondered if she wanted some contrived noises of sympathy, but she continued talking unconcerned. He realized that she just liked to talk, telling him about her time at Ilvermorny, how Tina had been a bit of a suck up, even then.

“I wasn’t good at school,” she said with a little smile. “Mind all over the place, you know.”

She swallowed the last few sips of her drink and signaled to the bartender for another. Graves had been mostly silent through her entire rambling monologue and she didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t keeping up his side of the conversation. He’d been occluding his mind as much as he could, not wanting her to get a peek into his miserable childhood, but the more whiskey he consumed, the harder it became.

He’d just been thinking about his father sending him owls every week, admonishing him for not working hard enough, even though he was the top in every class, when a tray of more drinks arrived, floating to their table. Graves had already been drinking while at the office, and he felt his occlumency waver. He felt Queenie’s hand on his wrist, sneaking under the cuff of his dress shirt. There was heat in his cheeks and he hoped he wasn’t turning red the way he had in his teens. He quickly took a large sip of whiskey to distract himself. He didn’t shrug off her hand this time. 

He listened to Queenie prattle on about this and that, not saying anything but occasionally nodding or making a sound of agreement. The more he drank, the more he liked watching her talk. Her eyes were bright, alive, glinting with certain mischief. She was pretty, like most of the witches MACUSA hired to deliver coffee, but Graves had to wonder how he hadn’t noticed her particular attractiveness before. Maybe he just hadn’t been looking. He was looking now: at her ankles crossed demurely as she leaned towards him; at how her blouse, which had been buttoned modestly while at work, had been undone at some point without him realizing. He could see the lacy edge of her slip and the smooth shadows cast by her collarbones and it was all tremendously distracting. But he was equally mesmerized by her lips, so pink and flushed as she sipped her drink, by the extreme directness of her gaze. It was like she was looking into his soul. And in a way, she was. He was certainly blushing now.

Queenie only smirked and didn’t look abashed at all by the things she must have been gleaning from his mind. He looked away, down at his own hands. But there he only saw her fingers tipped with shell pink nail varnish drawing circles on his wrist. The flush was extending down his chest.

“Look,” she said softly, her eyes twinkling. “Mistletoe.”

Graves looked at her, startled and confused. She tilted her head, gesturing upwards. Graves looked up and saw a magical sprig of mistletoe floating above their table. Graves frowned at another trite and ridiculous Christmas tradition.

“You know, the ancient druids did more than just kiss under the mistletoe,” Queenie said casually and Graves wondered when she had gotten so close. He could smell her perfume. 

“There are still lots of potions with mistletoe as an ingredient,” he said, flustered and babbling a bit. “There’s a remedy for warts and one for – for impotence…”

He trailed off, feeling entirely foolish. Queenie only giggled and he knew she could hear exactly what he was thinking. 

“Mistletoe is like eggnog,” she muttered, close enough now that she only had to whisper. He could feel her breath against his face. “It’s nice even if you don’t celebrate Christmas.”

She pressed her mouth on his and Graves didn’t react at first. Her lips were soft and tasted like lemon juice and whiskey. The kiss deepened and Graves felt his hand rise, brushing her cheek. She was leaning in close, her hand on his upper thigh, sliding higher. He felt lightheaded, and not just from the whiskey. Queenie pulled back and he felt her soft sigh as a puff of air against his lips. He stroked her jaw with his thumb as she sat back just enough to look at him. 

“How ‘bout we get out of here?” she said, pink lips curling.

Graves actually smiled, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

 

Usually, Graves didn’t have guests at his apartment. He had no one to invite regardless, but his place was spartan, hardly nice enough to show off even if he lived in a nice part of the city. He was hardly ever home anyway, no point in sprucing it up. He might have been embarrassed by his austere living space, but the moment he apparated into his living room with Queenie wrapped around his arm, it didn’t matter because he was kissing her.

He’d forgotten what the usual date night etiquette was supposed to be, if he should have offered her a coffee, taken her coat like a gentleman, kept his hands to himself. But it didn’t seem like Queenie minded as she pressed herself against him, arms thrown around his neck. Graves kissed her desperately, hands fumbling as he undid the buttons on her coat, pushed it off her shoulders and tugged at her blouse to pull it from the waistband of her skirt. 

“Hey, sugar,” Queenie whispered against his mouth, her fingers sliding into the open collar of his shirt. “We have all night.”

She must have seen how his mind skipped ahead, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. He swallowed thickly and buried his face in her hair. He could hear his own heartbeat terribly loud in his ears. He took a deep breath, consciously trying to keep his hands from shaking as he went to the buttons on her blouse, slowly unfastening them. He undid her skirt next and she stood there in just her peach pink slip, decorated with lace and ribbon at the neckline. Queenie was blushing or maybe she was just flushed, a little smile on her face as she pushed off his overcoat and suit jacket. Usually he’d be very concerned about hanging them up so they wouldn’t get crumpled but he had far more important things to concern himself with, like sinking to his knees in front of her.

He pressed his face against her belly, feeling the smooth, buttery silk of her slip on his cheek. He felt her hands in his hair, teasing the back of his neck where his hair was shorn short. He kissed her belly through her slip and he was glad that she could read his mind because she knew to walk backwards onto his couch and he followed her, sliding his hands under her thighs to lift them up. He felt the hard edge of her garters and the slight way she trembled as her kissed her inner thigh, rucking up her slip along the way. Her hand tightened as it gripped his hair and he smiled against her skin.

“Oh golly,” Queenie gasped when he licked her, her sharp nails digging into his scalp.

When she finished, squeezing his head with her thighs, Graves sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with his hand. His knees were aching fiercely, but he didn’t care. His cock was hard and aching but the vision of Queenie slumped over his couch, hair disheveled, face bright pink, a dazed sort of smile on her face was like another punch in the gut. 

“You really haven’t had a gal over in _years?”_ she said, incredulous. “It sure don’t seem like it!”

Graves didn’t really have it in him to be embarrassed because he just wanted to kiss her. He felt his knee pop as he pulled himself up, leaned over to kiss her hungrily. Her hands slide over his shoulders and she shifted over, making room for him to sit.

“Just sit right here, honey,” she said, voice soft and breathy. “You don’t have to do all the work.”

Graves was content to follow orders for once. She swung her legs over his lap to straddle him and pulled her slip over her head, tossing it aside. She sat in his lap naked except for her stockings and garter belt and Graves felt incredibly overdressed, still wearing most his clothes.

“Who knew you had it in you,” she said saucily, pushing his suspenders off his shoulders as he stroked her ribcage, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts.

“I have – ah – hidden depths,” he muttered, gasping a little as she rolled her hips, grinding against him. 

“Most men don’t, you see,” she said airily, unbuttoning his shirt. “I would know, I can see everything they think.”

“Good to know,” he growled, a low moan caught in his throat as her quick fingers got to the button on his trousers.

It was true that it had been an embarrassingly long time since he’d enjoyed the pleasures of female company, so when Queenie settled over him, setting a firm pace at once, Graves let his head roll back, trying to get control of himself. He’d forgotten how good it was, not just the physical feel of her around him, but the warm, intimate closeness of her body, her hands on his chest, her lips brushing his, the weight of her breasts in his palms. It was all a little overwhelming.

“Don’t worry sugar, we’ll take it easy,” Queenie said, her voice sounded a little strained as her pace slowed, now deliciously teasing.

Graves grunted, gripping her hips firmly. There were definitely benefits to being with a mind reader, he thought. Queenie seemed to know just the right way to rock against him, drawing it out until Graves was shuddering in pleasure, hips rutting up to meet her, his face buried in her neck. He could feel her heartbeat, fast and steady against his own chest. But she also knew just when it was getting too much and she rolled her hips hard, with purpose.

It was a sudden cascade of feeling, starting in his groin and spreading outward in waves to the top of his head and ends of his fingers. It seemed to last longer than usual, his body shuddering against her as she cradled his head in her hands. His face felt wet against her neck as his orgasm subsided, the aftershocks still making him twitch. He eased out but didn’t let go of her, breathing hard, her hair in his face, embarrassed by his intense rush of feeling.

“Oh, honey,” Queenie cooed, smoothing back his hair. She tipped his head back, kissed his damp and flushed cheek, nuzzled his neck. She felt too good in his arms to let her go.

“We should at least try to make it to the bed, don’t you think?” she said after what felt like a long time. “Unless you want to sleep on the couch.”

Graves cracked his eyes open to look at her. He brushed her tangled hair off her face, cupping her cheek fondly. He didn’t want to tell her that he’d never had a girl sleep in his bed before. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Graves couldn’t help but smile again.


End file.
